Be All That You Can Be
by Wendy Blue
Summary: Michael schemes up a new quarterly comraderie event that leads the troops to Basic Training! Hilarity ensues.
1. Chapter 1: A Few Good Men

**A/N: Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. But the idea made me giggle and I hope it will make you laugh too. Huge thanks to Cousin Mose for encouraging me to write something I wouldn't normally write to help clear up the writing log jam I currently have going on. Enjoy!**

_After the Booze Cruise, I thought it'd be pretty tough to improve on the quarterly comraderie event. But this year…I think it's safe to say that's I've outdone myself._

"AttenTION!" Michael bellowed in a drill sergeant voice stepping out of his office. Some looked up from their work while others paid no attention to the inevitably insignificant announcement about to be made.

"As you all know, it's time for this quarter's comraderie event and, I must say, if you thought the Booze Cruise was good…" 

"It wasn't good," came Angela's terse reply.

"We almost faced a lawsuit," Toby interjected.

Meredith stayed quiet, sipping from her Big Gulp cup whose contents remained a mystery to the rest of the office.

_I was a big fan of last year's event. I don't remember a lot of it…but from what I hear, I had a really good time._

"Lawsuit, shmawsuit. The point is, this year's is bigger, better, and demands that you…" Michael paused to smear black paint under his eyes.

"Be all that you can be." With that, he wagged his eyebrows and retreated back to his office, peering through the blinds in an attempt to inconspicuously gauge his employee's reactions.

There was a moment of silence before Dwight, suddenly alert, spoke up.

"Oh my God," he said quietly. "We're going to war."

"No we're not," Jim said, not looking up from the paperwork in front of him.

"Yes we are. Michael is forming an army and leading us into battle. He's like the great Douglas Macarthur—"

"Macarthur abandoned his troops in the Philippines."

"No, you know what Jim, we can't have this kind of mutiny already. You're either with us or against us."

"Well, if he is forming an army," Jim tapped a pencil to his chin. "Then I guess that makes me a lieutenant which means you're below me. And frankly, I don't appreciate that kind of talk from a subordinate." Jim returned to work, biting back a laugh at the sight of a jaw-dropped Dwight.

_Yeah, I actually did think about joining the military after high school. But I figured going straight to college would lead to a better future. _Jim paused and looked at the camera. _And look at how well that turned out._

From inside his office, Michael watched as his troops went about their workday, seemingly unimpressed from his announcement.

_I think they're still in shock. But I think boot camp will be good for them. It was actually very simple: I made a call to, get this, Fort Mifflin and said that we were interested in using their facilities for a company event. They were pretty nice about it, but the general made it clear that he was in charge. Which is fine, I totally respect those guys; I would have joined the military had it not been for my asthma. That…that was a setback._

Pam felt a headache coming on at the thought of Dunder-Mifflin boot camp and made her way to the break room for tea. She hesitated, seeing Jim and Karen laughing over something, but decided to brave it and walked in as they were in mid conversation.

"—underestimate my skills, Halpert. My dad was the sergeant of the ROTC at my high school. I learned a thing or two."

"I just can't see you doing pushups and running through tires." Jim said with a laugh, stopping short at Pam's entrance.

"Hey," she said casually, moving to the cabinets.

"Ready for boot camp?" Karen offered with a weak smile.

"Oh…yeah. You know me, totally pumped." She mentally winced. _Totally pumped?_

"Well, that's good that you're 'totally pumped.' General Scott wouldn't have it any other way." Jim grinned for a moment before catching Karen's glare. He then turned more serious.

"Okay then, back to work." He dumped the remainder of his coffee back in the sink and had to keep himself from sprinting back to his desk in order to avoid the awkwardness at hand.

He returned to his desk to find Dwight concentrating fiercely on making badges out of scrap paper.

_It's a good thing we are not actually going into war. Most of these imbeciles would be doomed. They do not have the proper training nor the bravery needed on the battlefield. I, however, have both. _Dwight looked fiercely into the camera.

_Times ten. _

xxx

Pam looked up from reception as Michael strode in from his "top secret errand" he had left for an hour earlier. He was carrying two large brown bags with no labels to give anyone a clue as to what was in them. Michael was nearly to his office door when Dwight ran in front of him.

"What's in the bag?"

"You'll just have to be patient, Dwight."

"But as Colonel, I feel—"

"Assistant _to_ the—wait what?" Michael began to respond out of habit but stopped short as Dwight revealed his self-appointed title.

"Colonel. You are General, Jim due to a mere technicality is Lieutenant, so that makes me Colonel. Now when do you have time to meet to go over our plan of attack? I have Stratego at home that we can use to simulate—"

"Dwight, just—stop! I don't have time for this. You'll find out along with everyone else, now please, just go back to work." And with that, Michael slammed the door in Dwight's face, leaving him with a look of bewilderment. Dwight trudged back to his desk, and Jim sat back with arms folded watching him throw away the carefully made badges.

"So you're Colonel? As in, Colonel Mustard?"

Dwight shot a glare at Jim, continuing to forcefully toss the badges into the trashcan.

"You'd be wise not to anger me in times of war."

"Does that mean I can anger you any other time?"

Finally fed up, Dwight stormed from his desk, carrying the trashcan with him and pushed through the double doors out of the office. Pam watched him go and turned to Jim with wide eyes. Jim shrugged and grinned mischievously causing her to giggle, despite the stern pair of hazel eyes she could feel upon her.

_No, I think it's great that they're friends. I was beginning to think Jim was a loner_, Karen said with a small laugh to the camera. _Yeah I mean, she's his friend, and I'm his girlfriend. There's no reason for it to be awkward._ She looked back and forth between the producer and the camera nervously. _Can I go now?_

**What mysterious items are in the brown bags? Will Karen and Pam duke it out in basic training? Will Michael be reduced to tears by those in command? These answers and more to come in Chapter 2!**


	2. Chapter 2: Move Out

**A/N: Okay, so it's a bit of a short chapter. Sorry bout that, I'll make it up to you guys later, I promise. Thanks for all the support of the story, hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Let's just all pool our money together and buy The Office, so that I can at least say I own some of it. But at the moment, I don't.**

Pam jumped nearly two inches out of her seat when the sound of a blaring whistle rang out through the office. People turned to glare in the direction it was coming from and were greeted with the sight of Michael, who had ditched his suit for army fatigues. He donned a wide brimmed black hat and a much too tight black t-shirt and shiny leather combat boots. He clutched the whistle beneath his teeth, grinning over his new toy and attention-getter. The office waited in silence for whatever announcement he had disrupted the workday for. Michael in return stared blankly back at them.

"What?" he said, whistle still clutched between his teeth.

"Is there something you need, Michael?" Angela said sternly.

"Nope. Just wanted to test this beauty out. Works like a charm," he replied, taking the whistle out of his mouth to polish it. Angela rolled her eyes in disgust.

_Michael's outfit is heinous. Only those with true authority could possibly pull off an outfit such as that. Like policemen, or firemen…or deputies. _Angela gives a panicked look to the camera._ Just as an example._

"And now the moment you've all been waiting for!" Michael announced, singing in fanfare style as he produced the two brown bags from his office. He reached in and pulled out outfits identical to the one he was wearing.

"Uniforms! Stanley, think fast!" he said, tossing one to Stanley who didn't even look up as the extra large fatigues landed on his head. Michael continued to distribute the outfits, lingering a bit longer than normal as he handed them to the women.

"Michael," Pam said patiently as she held up her black top. "What's wrong with my shirt?" The top had been unevenly cut right under the bust line, removing a good six inches of material.

"Oh that's—that's just how all the women in the army are wearing it these days. More comfortable that way. Trust me."

Pam shot a look of contempt toward the camera.

_Well, that's just great. Not only do I get to go to a boot camp designed by Michael, but I get to do it while looking like a Hooter's reject._ She shook her head.

_Fantastic._

"Mine looks okay," Phyllis said meekly from her desk.

"So does mine," called out Meredith.

"Yeah, there's…a reason for that," Michael muttered, giving a not-so-subtle shudder. "Oh, almost forgot something!" He scurried back to his office and slammed the door in excitement. Jim leaned back to make sure Michael was occupied, then got up and walked to Karen's desk where she was examining her extremely short top with disgust.

"I can't wear this."

"Come on, Filipelli. Gotta be a team player," Jim teased, punching her playfully in the shoulder.

"I can be a team player without baring midriff," she retorted with a smile, hitting him on the arm with the skimpy shirt.

"Big Jim Bean!" Michael called running back from his office slightly out of breath. "Since you are my number two in command, it is only fair that you get one of these bad boys too." Michael pulled from behind his back a hat just like the one he wore, and he plopped it ceremoniously on Jim's head. Jim heard Karen snort behind him, and he rubbed his lips together in frustration.

"Oh man, you are workin' that hat my brotha! You know, this could actually serve two purposes, one for the actual training and then…you know… 'role playing.'" He giggled and slapped Jim on the back before turning back to his office. Jim hung his head, avoiding Karen's eyes. Her jaw dropped a bit and looked nervously around the office as her cheeks flushed into a bright red. Jim caught Kevin's stare and rolled his eyes as Kevin smiled and mouthed "Nice."

_I think I'm really going to like boot camp._ Kevin grinned at the camera. _A lot._

xxx

While normally the week made a crawling pace to Friday, the departure day for boot camp came sooner than anyone had hoped. It was 3:00 pm when the large charter bus blared its horn from the parking lot, announcing its arrival and the cue for everyone to pack up early.

Michael marched from his office and stood at the doorway, dressed head to toe in army gear with clipboard in hand.

"Okay troops! Follow me downstairs and we'll get this show on the road! Make sure to have all your belongings and don't forget to use the bathroom before we leave, we are not making any stops, _Kevin_" Michael glared at a confused Kevin, still struggling to tie the laces on his combat boots. The entire office was already changed into their fatigues, and Pam folded her arms awkwardly across her stomach in order to cover up the exposed skin. She looked to see Jim and Karen gathering their things, laughing over some inaudible joke together. Karen displayed her toned stomach with pride, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail to reveal even more skin along her neck. But it was Jim who was proving to be the biggest distraction. Pam had always been a sucker for a guy in uniform.

Jim slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and made his way toward the door.

"Ready, Private Beesly?"

She grinned and grabbed the single suitcase she had brought along for the trip.

"Yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3: Not So At Ease

**A/N: So there might be what some could consider "offensive" material in this one. But it's just me writing Michael, and it is written based on stereotypes that are completely untrue and that I don't believe in. Thank you so much for your reviews, they make my day! **

**Disclaimer: C'est n'est pas á moi.**

The trip to Fort Mifflin would already be long enough with the two-hour drive, but adding Michael's ukulele and Creed's travel size bag of mung beans, it was sure to be even longer. The creaky bus lacked air conditioning and the driver looked less than thrilled to be the chauffer for the excursion. It didn't help when Michael observed the man's African-American heritage and felt an urgent need to comment on it.

"And what is your name, good sir?"

"Bill," he replied gruffly.

"Bill! Well Bill, I am Michael Scott and these are my troops. Very important that we get to Fort Mifflin safely…good thing we're traveling on land and not on water, am I right?" Michael clapped Bill on the back with a laugh.

The man gave a menacing glare and lurched the bus forward, causing Michael to fall into the aisle. He picked himself up and dusted off his hat before reluctantly taking a seat next Dwight.

Pam observed the scene with amusement and turned to her left in hopes of engaging Angela in the joke. Her face fell, though, when she saw Angela had her eyes shut tight and head resting on a neck pillow, thoroughly prepared to be unconscious for the entire drive. Pam sighed and put in her ear-buds, scrolling through her mP3 player for soothing music. She was about to click on Norah Jones when she heard Jim and Karen's voices in the seats behind her.

"I just don't see what the problem is," Karen said in a hushed, yet fierce voice.

"Not now."

"But—"

"I told you, I'll think about it. For now, let's just enjoy the musical stylings of General Scott, ukulele extraordinaire."

Pam could hear Karen give a small laugh as Michael began to butcher the song "Kokomo." Though she didn't mean to eavesdrop, their conversation had been intriguing enough that Pam kept the volume on her mp3 player low over the course of the drive, just in case.

xxx

Two hours, fourteen songs and two near-accidents later, the bus pulled up to the front of Fort Mifflin. Everyone exited the bus, stretching and yawning as they took in their surroundings. The fort seemed to be the only thing around for miles, standing alone amongst tumbleweeds and sparse trees. No sooner had they filed off the bus than a large and bulky figure wearing a uniform adorned with various medals marched promptly out to the group.

"Are you Dunder-Mifflin?" the man asked to no one in particular. Michael perked up and ditched his effort at trying to get Ryan to do push-ups.

"Sir, yes sir! We are Dunder-Mifflin and we are pumped and ready for whatever you guys want to throw at us! Right gang?"

The "gang" remained in silence, arms folded as they waited for it all to begin.

"I am Sergeant Miller and I will be conducting your basic training this weekend. Now, let me go over a few rules—" he began in a calm and congenial voice.

"Oh, come _on_," Michael interjected, clearly exasperated. "Why are you being…nice? We came here for boot camp, let's see some boot camp."

Jim gave a look to the camera, eyebrows raised in mock surprise as Michael continued to badger the sergeant.

_How could this not turn out well?_ Jim smirked and shrugged to the camera.

Sergeant Miller looked questioningly at Michael. "Oh, you want boot camp?"

"Well, that is the whole reason we're here. Get these guys in shape. Look at 'em, wouldn't want these guys out on the battlefield anytime soon."

_The Marines have a saying: Semper Fi. It is Greek for "No mercy."_ Michael looked gravely into the camera. _Unfortunately, I will have to enforce that saying this weekend. I wish I didn't, but as the Greeks also say: Caveat Emtor. Buyer beware._

"Except for me, right Michael?" Dwight interrupted, his face looking desperately for reassurance.

"Who are you?" the sergeant asked with annoyance.

"Colonel Schrute, third in command. You should know that not only do I have extensive military training but also—" Dwight was cut off by the sound of Sergeant Miller blaring his whistle in Dwight's face.

"I don't like your attitude, private! You will not speak to me unless I speak to you first. Is that clear?" The sergeant was two inches from Dwight's face, yelling loudly and protruding spit with each enunciated syllable. Dwight stared in shock before composing himself and giving a hard salute.

"Yes sir!"

"Alright then! Since your _general,_" Sergeant Miller glanced over at Michael, who had plastered a smile on his face after the sergeant's outburst. "Believes that I'm too soft on you guys, we're going to kick this up a notch. Just like Emeril." The sergeant strolled up to Michael and leered over him till finally yelling out "BAM!" making Michael retract in fear.

_I enjoy the Food Network_, Sergeant Miller said to the camera matter-of-factly.

"Now I want you all to drop and give me fifty! Let's go!" And with another blow of his whistle, every one grudgingly got down on the ground. All except a frightened looking Kelly.

"Did you not hear me, private? I said let's go!" Sergeant Miller.

"Oh, see I totally would, but I just do not have that upper body strength. Not like Demi Moore in 'G.I. Jane.' Did you see that movie? I cannot believe she shaved her head! Seriously, I don't think I could ever do that. You look good bald though!"

Rolling his eyes, he blew his whistle once again. "That's enough! Fifty push-ups! Let's go!"

Holding back tears, Kelly lowered herself on to the ground and began her push-ups.

Kelly blinked furiously at the camera, a look of pain mixed with anger knit tightly on her face.

_Ashton would never talk to Demi that way. Ever._

Karen was positioned next to Jim who had Pam on the other side of him. She was determined to show she could hold her own against even an athletic guy like Jim. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to show a bit of an edge over certain other employees. But as she looked to her right, she could see Pam's body bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm, counting off quietly as she did each push-up.

"Hangin' in there, Beesly?" Jim asked, his breathing heavy and eyes squinting in the bright sun.

Pam was startled to hear him address her, and didn't respond for a moment. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through her or maybe the endorphins from the workout, but she found some bravery in her to retort back.

"Of course, just waiting for you to catch up with me."

Jim looked at her with a grin. "Oh really?"

She nodded and let out a sharp breath of air as she strained to lower herself to the ground.

"You're getting slow in your old age, Halpert."

"Just wait till we get to the rock climb, then we'll see how slow I am."

Pam giggled but could see Karen past Jim, staring at the two of them as they bantered. She quickly looked away when Pam caught her and increased the speed and force of her push-ups.

Jim reached his fifty before anyone else, collapsing on the ground and rolling over onto his back. Pam was not too far behind him, she too lying on her back next to him struggling to catch her breath.

"I win," Jim said, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face.

"Jerk," replied Pam, who mentally assured herself that her increased heart rate was from the strenuous exercise.

_We've always been really competitive. _Pam looked rapidly between the producer and the camera.

_What? We have._

**A/N: Next up: The troops settle in for their first night on base. Tensions mount, courage is mustered, and Angela complains about something. Stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4: Friendly Competition

After a full day of pushups, a tour of the base, more pushups, and a "trust fall" that ended with Kevin sustaining a minor back injury, it was finally time for the first break the group was given since arriving: dinner. The meal was held in the standard cafeteria where those others stationed ate. Each employee slid their trays across the metal railing, inspecting their limited options. Stanley gave a low grumble as what appeared to be some sort of casserole was plopped onto his plate by a severe looking woman in a white apron and hair net. Angela was next in line and was about to receive the same meal before she interjected sharply.

"Excuse me, what exactly is this?"

"Casserole," the woman replied with disdain.

"What kind of casserole? I'm a vegetarian and I refuse to—"

"I'm sorry, you must be mistaking me for your momma, who might actually care. Eat it or shut it, blondie." The woman was now narrowing her eyes at Angela, her spatula raised in the air like some sort of weapon.

Angela pursed her lips together and turned to walk away before Dwight suddenly appeared and placed a hand gently on her forearm.

"Good evening, Angela. Won't you be helping yourself to dinner?"

"No, Dwight. I've suddenly lost my appetite," she sneered, eyeing the cafeteria lady out of the corner of her eye.

Dwight looked around before speaking in a low voice. "Monkey, you need your strength. I will not watch you be shown up by Phyllis. We are the few, the proud…the not-so-many. Please," his eyes bore into her, silently pleading for her to acquiesce. Angela remained expressionless, but after a few moments slowly turned back to the woman behind the counter who looked obnoxiously smug as she heaped a pile of the casserole onto her plate.

"Thank you," Angela replied through her teeth and left the station in a huff, not bothering to look back at a pleased Dwight. The woman cleared her throat, her eyes silently questioning where his tray and plate were.

Dwight scoffed. "I don't need it, thank you very much."

_That was not food. That was gruel. And I will not be sustained on gruel. I planned ahead and brought the proper nutrients to keep myself nourished. Vitamins, fruits, vegetables…deer jerky. And prune juice. _ Dwight shot a satisfied look at the camera._ To stay regular._

Jim scanned the dining hall, looking for the most strategic seating. He could see Pam had secured herself in a corner chatting with Phyllis, smiling and laughing with a sincerity that had lately been absent. The kick in his heart sent a smile to his lips before the sudden sense of a camera lurking not too far from him caused him to shake himself out of his reverie and back to the task of looking for a seat. He spotted Karen sitting with Ryan and Kelly, and she broadened into a smile and gestured to the seat she had saved for him. He was moving toward her before he heard his name being shouted across the dining hall.

"Jim! Yo, Jimbo! Number 2! Official executive officers meeting stat!" Jim groaned seeing Michael waving him over frantically to a small table in the very far corner of the room. He gave an apologetic look to Karen and grudgingly made his way over to Michael's table where Dwight was already plotting points on a crudely drawn map with a protractor.

"Alright, so here's our plan of attack," Michael leaned into the table, splaying out his hands in front of him for added effect. "Now pay attention, this gets tricky. We take the toilet paper," he paused to hold the imaginary roll of toilet paper in his hand. "And then throw it over the girls' cabin," he gave a small giggle as he mimed tossing the roll in a perfect arc.

"Brilliant," Dwight murmured in awe.

"I'm sorry…what?" Jim furrowed his eyebrows, looking between Michael and Dwight in hopes of there existing a logical explanation for a plan involving toilet paper and the girls' cabin.

"We're going TPing," Michael snickered, a snort escaping from his nose in his delight.

"Jim, we'll be needing someone of your stature for those hard to reach places—"

"That's what she said!" Michael proclaimed a little too loudly, causing everyone in the dining hall to turn around in annoyance. Jim saw Pam give a teasing eye-roll at him, causing him to smile broadly and look quickly back down at his food before she could see the red lightly tinting his cheeks. Michael cleared his throat and spoke in a lower voice, something Jim didn't realize he was capable of.

"So midnight. Tonight. Let's synchronize our watches," Michael said, squinting at his "Folex" and fiddling with the small winder.

_TPing is great for male bonding. You get to formulate a plan, execute that plan together, take out lots of aggression…at first I thought of just playing Tag but come on, what are we, kids?_

A sharp whistle overhead indicated that dinner was over, and everyone ushered themselves outside toward the respective men's and women's cabins. Jim was walking with Karen when he felt Pam brush up next to him.

"What was the secret meeting all about?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information. It's classified," Jim said with mock seriousness.

"You're no fun," Pam grinned before speeding ahead to catch up with Kelly.

Jim's eyes trailed after her before realizing that a pair of eyes was boring into him at his side. He turned to look at Karen, who had her eyebrows raised in suspicion. Jim mustered a smile and slipped an arm around her waist, walking in that fashion till they parted for their cabins.

_I've never really been that competitive. But…_Karen trailed off, looking past the camera crew, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. _There's a first time for everything._


	5. Chapter 5: Attack!

**A/N: This chapter basically wrote itself, it was crazy how fast it came out. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything.**

Pam settled into her top bunk, careful not to disturb a sleeping Angela below her. Though she was physically exhausted, Pam's mind was busy with projecting a slideshow of the day's events in front of her, mainly those that included playful banter or shared smiles with Jim. She was treading in dangerous territory and knew that if it kept up, someone was bound to be hurt. Still, the warm familiarity of his laughter over the course of the day was enough to drive her to be at her very best for the duration of basic training.

She heard Karen quietly come back from the bathroom adjacent to their barracks, making her way up to her top bunk that was placed right next to Pam's. Karen let out a large sigh as she plopped herself on top of the covers, the humid air being enough of a thick blanket to keep them from becoming too comfortable.

"Longest. Day. Ever," she whispered.

"Tell me about it," Pam said, her hand rubbing across her forehead in attempt to ease the throbbing that her fatigue had produced. "And just think, we have another two days of this."

"Not to mention Michael's increasing body odor. Jim was telling me that he heard him say that he refused to shower in order to get the full experience, whatever that means."

Pam flinched a bit at the sound of Jim's name, that knot of jealousy she had come to know all to well settling in her stomach. "Hmm," was all she said, as she knew it was the safest response to give without revealing how much she wished Karen would roll right off the top bunk. Pam began to scold herself for thinking such thoughts, but then again, Fancy New Beesly thought about a lot of things lately that she probably shouldn't. Like dropping everything and moving to California. Or signing up for Or Jim in uniform.

"And this heat doesn't help any," Karen continued. "It's going to be terrible when we move to New York next month."

Pam's eyes shot open and she felt her stomach jump up to her throat. _We. Move. New York._

"Umm, New York?" was all she managed to get out, still trying to sound as casual as possible.

Karen turned over on her side and propped herself up on her elbow. "You mean Jim didn't tell you? There's a big marketing firm over there that's looking people with sales experience. Jim scheduled an interview, and you know how he is, everybody just falls in love with him the minute he introduces himself." Pam remained on her back, nodding her head slowly as her brain still tried to process the new information. The sound of footsteps outside their cabin stopped Pam's thoughts, and the two women exchanged a look of worry.

"What is that?" Karen hissed.

Pam shook her head in confusion, slowly climbing down off of her bunk, Karen following shortly behind. They looked around for something to attack the potential intruder with, settling on a sharp stiletto protruding from Kelly's Louis Vuitton bag.

The footsteps grew louder as they approached, and in an instinct left over from childhood, Pam clutched Karen's hand in fear, the stiletto raised high in the other. Karen looked to Pam as they came to the door, and she gave a small nod as a signal to open it. Karen winced and threw the door open to reveal Jim, clad only in a t-shirt and boxers. His eyes went wide at the sight of them, obviously not expecting to find the two of them in pajamas, looking terrified and armed with a shoe. Both women let out a sigh of relief, putting a hand to their rapidly beating hearts.

"Uhh, hey," Jim said, an innocent grin spreading across his face.

Karen grabbed the shoe out of Pam's hand and hit him on the arm. "Jim Halpert, don't you ever scare us like that again. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I thought it was only fair to warn you that Michael and Dwight are planning on TPing your cabin in about 20 minutes. So if you can tear yourselves away from painting nails and pillow fights in your underwear…" he smirked, gesturing to the small bits of material that passed for Karen's sleeping attire. Pam refused to make eye contact with him, partly out of embarrassment for her own short nightgown and partly out of knowing that there would surely be anger and betrayal radiating from her eyes at the thought of him moving to New York.

"Beesly, you with us?" His voice brought her back to the present, and she hesitantly looked up at him.

"Yeah, I'm here. Thanks for the warning." She turned on her heels and moved back into the cabin, leaning against her bed frame as she struggled to regain composure. Pam heard the door close and was suddenly blinded by the fluorescent lights overhead flickering on. Groans came from all corners of the cabin as the women stirred awake.

"Okay ladies," Karen clapped her hands. "Here's the deal: The guys are going to try and TP our cabin tonight, we have to be ready to attack."

"Attack with what?" Phyllis asked, rummaging for her glasses in her purse.

"Oh my God, I brought shaving gel! Will that work?" Kelly squealed.

"Perfect," Karen nodded in approval. "Anyone else have anything?"

"I have an idea," Angela growled from her bunk, sitting up in exasperation. "How about we put an end to this childish behavior and go back to bed?"

"Come on, Angela" Pam insisted. "You wouldn't want Michael and _Dwight_ to ruin our cabin, would you?" She stressed Dwight's name and raised her eyebrows knowingly. Angela's stern expression shifted ever so slightly into what Pam assumed was the closest thing to excitement that Angela ever got. "Very well," she said reluctantly. She reached into her suitcase and pulled out a large bottle. "Is holy water okay?"

Pam and Karen turned to each other with looks of amusement and confusion, before grinning at Angela. "Excellent."

xxx

Michael crouched behind a shrub of bushes next to Dwight who was peering through binoculars at the ladies' cabin.

"Can you see anything?" Michael asked in a hushed voice.

"Everything appears to be normal…too normal," Dwight growled. "Hold on, I see something moving!"

"What is it?" Michael squinted, his voice becoming more and more high pitched.

"False alarm. Just a squirrel. Want me to dispose of it? I have a slingshot."

"Dwight—just," Michael let out a frustrated groan. "Give me those."

Dwight reluctantly handed over the binoculars, silently sulking with his arms folded.

"Okay, now wait a minute. Something's coming, it's getting closer!" Michael toppled over bringing Dwight down with him as the shadowy figure moved completely into his line of vision. In the darkness, Michael could see a hand being extended.

"You okay?" Jim asked, trying to mask his amusement.

Michael took Jim's hand and brought himself to his feet, dusting off his uniform.

"Fine, just trying to see if we're all clear. And where were you? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, got a little umm…sidetracked," Jim stammered, as thoughts of Pam's sleepwear drifted through his mind.

"That is no excuse for tardiness, Jim. I think as punishment you should be demoted," Dwight began, a look of smugness spreading quickly across his face.

"He's not being demoted, Dwight. Just, please, stay focused. Everyone grab a bag," Michael instructed, gesturing behind him to the three large trash bags filled with toilet paper. Once armed, the three men crept slowly over to the women's cabin.

"On my signal," Michael whispered.

"What was that?" Jim spoke in his normal register.

Dwight and Michael shot him furious looks, bringing a finger to their lips.

"He said 'on his signal,'" Dwight whispered slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Whose signal?" Jim raised his voice a little louder, his eyes drifting over to the window, where he could see two pairs of eyes peeking over the windowsill.

Finally fed up and losing track of the task at hand, Michael shouted "Mine!"

Just then the door to the cabin swung open, revealing all the women poised and ready with their various ammunition.

"Go!" Karen shouted. At her command, streams of shaving gel, balls of socks, and other makeshift weapons were thrown at full force toward the men.

Michael squealed as he was doused with a bucket of water by Phyllis, and began to sputter in shock.

"ABORT! ABORT!" he cried, as Phyllis, with a look of delight on her face continued to chase after him with a soap-filled loufa sponge.

Pam was armed with balls of socks, heavily soaked in water and spotted Dwight fending off a shaving-gel armed Meredith and Kelly. Pam threw the socks with everything she had, but right as one was about to strike her target, Dwight lunged out of the way, leaving Jim fully open to accept the blow. She let out a mix between a gasp and a laugh as he was hit squarely on the cheek. His face twisted in surprise as he looked around for his attacker. When he spotted Pam looking both guilty and pleased, he broke out into a sly grin.

"Oh Beesly, you are so dead!" And with that he raced towards her, causing her to scream and drop the rest of her ammo as she rounded to the back of the cabin. It didn't take long for him to catch up with her, and he reached out to tug on the fabric of the nightgown, only to grab too hard and cause them both to go toppling down onto the ground. Pam let out a cry as he landed on top of her, struggling to breathe in between their fits of laughter.

"Let me go!" she squealed playfully, her smile betraying any notion that she was in pain.

"After you attacked me? I'm afraid not," Jim said, laughing as he pinned her wrists to the muddy ground.

"It was an accident, I swear!" Pam's growing laughter made it increasingly difficult for her to catch her breath, but she could make no complaints about the wrestling partner she had unexpectedly found.

Their laughter died down in the midst of their heavy breathing, and the eye contact between them was fiercer and stronger than ever, holding both mischief and delight. Neither said a word till the blaring sound of a whistle broke them from their trance. A beam of light flashed into their eyes, and they quickly removed themselves from their compromising position, squinting to see the source of the light. As it inched closer, a tired and extremely angry Sergeant Miller appeared in view.

"What in the name of Rachel Ray is going on here?" he bellowed. The rest of the group appeared, all looking guilty as they cowered behind a terrified Michael.

"Sir," he began quietly. "This is what we call in the paper biz 'bonding.' We were just—"

"Oh I know what you were 'just' doing. You were 'just' destroying my base, that's what you were 'just' doing!" Sergeant Miller roared in Michael's face, and with trembling lips, it looked as though Michael might cry.

"You and I are going to step into my office and have a little chat," the sergeant sneered to Michael. "The rest of you," he addressed the rest of the group, all staring down at the ground. "Get some sleep. Because I can assure you, after your little escapade tonight, tomorrow will be a very, very, _very_ long day." He took one last menacing look at the employees before grabbing Michael by the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him off toward the main offices.

The remainder of the group slowly began to look up at one another, small smiles exchanged from one person to the next. They surely were in for it tomorrow, but the fun they had had that night would give them enough memories to get them through whatever Sergeant Miller planned to throw at them. They all began to move towards their cabins, Kelly and Meredith giving each other a small but triumphant high-five and Angela and Dwight sharing a knowing look. Karen lingered behind, smiling weakly as everyone walked by. Pam and Jim continued to brush themselves off, refusing to look at each other. It was yet another moment Karen had witnessed, and it was getting increasingly harder to ignore the nagging feeling at the pit of her stomach each time she saw them together. Jim finally moved towards her, giving her a sheepish smile and a kiss on the cheek before jogging ahead to catch up with the rest of the group. Pam waited till he was out of sight before she approached Karen.

"Look, I'm really sorry, nothing—"

"Don't," Karen held up a hand. "Don't worry about it." The two women exchanged awkward smiles before retreating back into the cabin.

Neither one would get much sleep that night.

xxx

_How did our attack go?_ Jim displayed the balled up pair of socks he had managed to intercept to the camera, sighing with contentment. _Better than I could have expected._


	6. Chapter 6: Punishment

It was still dark when a trumpet sounded around the base, alerting everyone to the early morning wake-up call. The Dunder-Mifflin troops grumbled as they forced their eyes open to the black that still surrounded them.

"Okay campers," Michael said in between a large yawn. "Time to get up. Ryan, how 'bout you go get started on some coffee."

"I make it a rule not to get up before—oh jeeze," Ryan averted his eyes in disgust. "Could you maybe talk to me after you have pants on?"

The rest of the men's cabin groaned at the sight of Michael wearing only his hat and a pair of briefs.

"What? Come on, if the goods are going to be cooped up all day, gotta give them some time to breathe in the morning. Sheesh," Michael rolled his eyes.

_It's hard being the mature one all the time. I mean, as the boss, I have to be. But you know, sometimes—sometimes it would just be nice to see some others step up. And show the same kind of maturity that I do. Is that really so hard?_ A playful snicker and a snort escaping from his nose interrupted Michael's serious expression.

_That's what she said._

xxx

The group stood at attention in a single file line outside their cabins, Sergeant Miller pacing in front of them, inspecting each person with a look of contempt.

"Never in my career have I seen such despicable behavior than last night. You are here to become responsible, respectable, strong individuals. And you proved to me last night than you are not any of those things. So," he said pulling a brown paper bag from behind his back. "Today you will clean up the mess you made using these and only these."

He passed around the bag and each person's jaw dropped when they saw the tools they would be using.

"A toothbrush?" Kevin asked.

"No, a squeegee. Yes, a toothbrush! You will scrub every inch of your cabins with this and at the end of the day I will be making a very thorough inspection of them. You all would be wise to make sure they look better than when you first got here. Now move!" And with a blow of his whistle, Sergeant Miller dismissed everyone to begin working on their deep cleaning. Jim and Pam began to move before the sergeant stepped in front of them.

"Uh-uh. You two, come with me."

Jim and Pam exchanged confused looks as they obediently followed the sergeant into his office.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured to the two leather chairs facing his desk. The two sat hesitantly, looking incredibly nervous as they racked their brains for what they might have done to cause this meeting.

"I'll get right to the point: I understand that you two are young, in love, and in that 'can't keep my hands off of you' phase of your relationship, but on my base, you keep your hands to yourself. Now I don't know what you two were planning on doing last night behind the cabin—"

"No!" Pam yelled a little too loudly, holding a hand out in front of her to silence Sergeant Miller. "No, sir, I don't know what…I mean, we're not…nothing is going on. Between us. Me and Jim. No." Pam's face was a deep shade of red and she literally bit her tongue to keep herself from rambling. She refused to look at Jim, but could see his hands nervously drumming on his legs.

"Yeah, sir, last night…she attacked me with socks. So I was just chasing her, and we fell and…it was just socks." Jim wasn't being much more articulate than Pam and he too quieted himself from saying anything further.

Sergeant Miller looked between the two with one suspicious eyebrow raised. He scoffed and shook his head.

"Well, regardless, save the 'sock attacks' for when you guys go back home...finally," he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. The three sat there in silence for a while, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. Finally, Sergeant Miller dismissed them to their cleaning duties, and both Jim and Pam darted from their seats, eager to leave the office as quickly as possible.

Though the distance from the main headquarters to the cabins was fairly short, the tension between the two made it seem miles away. Neither said anything for a few moments, before Jim, uneasy in the silence, finally spoke.

"This is all your fault."

Pam let out a surprised laugh. "Excuse me?"

Jim shrugged. "You were the one who attacked me."

"You were the one that pinned me to the ground."

"It's called 'retaliation.' I can't help it that you're no match for my wrestling skills." He smiled and at her, and just as Pam's heart began to flutter, it sunk at the thought of that smile moving to New York.

"Right…wrestling skills. You should see if New York has a professional team or something." She quickened her pace, knowing that she opened up a whole conversation she wasn't sure she was ready to have.

"What was that?" Jim jogged up next to her, his face fraught with confusion.

"You know, when you move there. Congratulations on that, by the way," Pam said, with a voice that was much more bitter than she intended.

"Pam!" he called out as she ran ahead of him to begin work on the trashed cabin. He spotted Karen, scrubbing around the doorframe with her assigned toothbrush and her eyes watching Pam run into the cabin, then looking back at Jim. Her expression held some guilt that was dwarfed by the look of satisfaction radiating from her wide eyes and tight smile.

xxx

"I didn't think they actually did this."

Jim continued to scrub the floor, ignoring her words.

"I thought that was just in 'Forrest Gump' or something," Karen laughed, attempting to make him crack a smile. It wasn't working.

"I suppose we could talk about shrimp to pass the time…"

He began scrubbing with more vigor, taking his anger with her out on the now-frayed toothbrush.

"Come on, are you seriously ignoring me right now? What the hell did I do wrong?" Karen sat on the back of her legs, throwing down her cleaning tool in annoyance.

"You had no right to say that I took that job. I had one interview, Karen, that's it. And I already told you I wasn't sure I wanted to take it." He had thrown down his toothbrush as well, standing up in order to pace while he talked.

"Yeah, but I figured it was just you being you. You're stubborn and don't want to do something unless you think it's your idea. I know once you convince yourself that you thought of the job—"

"No, that's not…that's not how I am, okay? Don't act like you have me figured out," Jim lashed out and by the stunned expression on Karen's face, he knew he had hit a nerve.

Karen scoffed and shook her head. "That's right, I keep forgetting…there's only one person who seems to have done that."

Jim opened his mouth to protest but Karen quickly interjected.

"Tell me something: what is it your angrier about? The fact that I lied or the fact that I lied to her?"


	7. Chapter 7: Mess Hall

_You know how the military has that saying: "Don't ask, don't tell?" _Oscar rubbed his lips together tightly in frustration. _I really wish someone would just ask me, so I could get the hell out of here._

_I'm tired. I'm sweaty. I have four broken nails and there is dirt in my hair._ Kelly looked as though she might cry. _Dirt._

_I remember when I first started at the temp agency, my supervisor told me 'Ryan, you're going to do great things in the world of business.'_ Ryan shook his head miserably. _Sergeant Miller told me today that I was a 'miserable maggot who couldn't sell water to a thirsty man' so…"_ he trailed off. _We'll see who turns out to be right._

Stanley just stared at the camera like an angry bear that was denied hibernation.

_The Bible says to 'Love thy neighbor.' _ Angela's eyes narrowed. _Michael was not God's neighbor when that rule was implemented._

Pam put a hand to her mouth as she yawned. _Sorry, I'm just really tired. I haven't been, uh, sleeping well. The days are really long and early wake up calls and…a lot of stuff on my mind so, yeah. I really want to go home._

_Best vacation of my life._ Creed stated proudly.

_There's nothing really about this training that is 'basic' except that basically, it was a disaster. _ Jim cast a disappointed look to the camera. _In…every way possible._

_Overall, yes, I do think it's going well, except…_Michael frowned and then continued in a hushed tone._ They're all kind of making me look bad. Here I am, showing all of my great leadership skills and they're just unable to be led! It's embarrassing, really._

xxx

It was the last night of basic training and thoroughly exhausted from the emotional and physical wear and tear of the weekend, the employees settled into bed early. All except for Jim and Pam, as it was their turn for cafeteria clean-up duty. They planted themselves at the sinks in the back of the kitchen, adorned in aprons and rubber gloves with Jim washing dishes and Pam drying. It was now an hour into their shift and there had been virtually no talking, driving Jim slowly into madness.

"You're working that apron, Beesley," he attempted to sound light and casual. Her response was merely a weak smile, her eyes never leaving the dish in front of her.

Jim, never being one to give up easily, persisted. "I think you could start a new trend. Receptionists all over the world sporting aprons; Paris, Milan, Tokyo, New York—" He stopped mid-sentence and winced. It had flown out of his mouth before he could stop it and by the look on her face, he knew he had it coming.

"Ha, right, New York. Just promise you'll come to the fashion show when it's there and say hi, if you're not too busy with work or anything." Pam had given up on even attempting to be civil, too hurt to bother. He obviously didn't care about her feelings and she didn't feel a particular need to care about his.

Jim threw down his sponge into the soapy sink and firmly grabbed her by the shoulders and turned him towards her, the plate in her hands crashing to the floor.

"I don't know what Karen said to you, but I guarantee you it's not true."

"So you didn't have an interview in New York?" she challenged.

"Yes, I did. But I have in no way taken the job, and frankly, don't have any intentions on taking it. It's a totally impersonal place, not much better pay, the boss is a complete psycho—" he paused and gave a small smile and even Pam relented with one of her own. "Plus it's just too far. From family, friends…everything that I care about." His grip on her had become softer, along with the way in which he now looked at her and it made Pam uneasy to see something so familiar behind those eyes. That sense of something much bigger layered in his words that she had at one time always ignored. But now, she had no reason to.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so…just the thought of you leaving again," she shook her head, eyes cast downward to the broken shards of ceramic at their feet. She felt a finger touch her chin, gently lifting it upward so she could see him, his expression much more gentle accompanied with a crooked grin.

"Hate to break it to you, but it takes a lot more than Michael's poor excuse for boot camp to get rid of me. So looks like you're stuck with me for a while longer," Jim made a face and shrugged.

Pam's smile broadened. "There are worse things, I guess."

With the tension between them finally gone, the rest of clean up went much more quickly as they laughed at the debacle the trip had turned into. At one point an audible noise sounded from Jim's stomach.

"Whoa," Pam's eyes widened and she let out a giggle. "Hungry?"

"I don't see how I could be after that _delicious_ serving of mush at dinner." He hopped off the kitchen counter and moved toward the large steel fridge.

Pam smirked and lifted herself up to the spot he had just vacated. "Looking for more mush?"

Jim kept rummaging through the various packages of unidentifiable meat. "I thought I saw…Aha!" He produced two wrapped popsicles triumphantly.

"What? How did you find those?" Pam squealed, leaping off the counter to examine the dessert more closely, as if she were afraid they wouldn't be real.

"I was almost sure I saw one of the servers eating one of these earlier. Grape or raspberry?" he held the two out to her.

"Oh like you even have to ask," Pam winked and grabbed the raspberry popsicle, ripping the plastic wrapper off biting a piece of the flavored ice. She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment.

"Wow, do I need to leave you two alone?" Jim teased, taking his own bite of the refreshing treat.

They ate quickly, the heat of the kitchen causing the popsicles to melt and leak sticky sugar all over their hands. The licked the last remnant off of the wooden sticks and threw them into the trashcan.

"What color is my tongue?" Pam suddenly asked, thrusting it out of her mouth.

"Well, Pam, it appears to be red…much like the color of a normal tongue."

She shot a mock glare at him. "Let me see yours."

"Why?"

"Just because."

"That's not a good enough reason."

"I want to see if it's purple!"

"I've been sucking on a grape popsicle for the last fifteen minutes. Trust me, it's purple."

"Jim!" Pam whined, laughing at their childish argument.

"So demanding," Jim rolled his eyes before surrendering and sticking out his tongue. Suddenly Pam's face knitted in concern.

"Jim, are there supposed to be those white splotches on there?"

"What?" Jim looked around in alarm for something to look into, finally grabbing a spoon and looking frantically for what could be wrong with his tongue. Then reality settled in and he looked at a grinning Pam.

"Sorry, I just really wanted to see you do that," she giggled.

"That's like the second time you've messed with me since we've been here, Beesley, I'm not sure I appreciate it."

Pam let a few more laughs escape before becoming quiet.

"I'm glad you're not moving."

"Me too," Jim said in a low voice.

"How does…I mean, is Karen okay about it?"

"Probably not. The thing is," Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and Pam turned her body toward him, eager to listen. "I don't think she wanted me to get it so that I'd be happier. She wanted me to get it so that _she'd_ be happier. Living vicariously through me, or embarrassed to have a paper salesman as a boyfriend." He shrugged and Pam's heart broke just enough for her to gently take his hand. The gesture caused him to look up at her.

"You're a lot more than a paper salesman, Jim. You're a lot more than a marketer, too. If she can't see that…" Pam stopped and let a small smile finish her thought.

Jim gave her hand a squeeze and then jerked his head toward the door.

"Let's get out of here. The sooner we're asleep, the sooner morning comes and we are officially done. And things go right back to normal."

Pam smirked. "Right. Normal."


	8. Chapter 8: Retreat

The group stood at attention for the last time, the scorching midday heat putting the "sun" in Sunday. Sergeant Miller took his time, making slow and deliberate steps in front of the line of weary workers, crunching his boots on the dry dirt.

"In a few moments, you all will step back on the bus in which you came, and leave. You will go back to whatever circle of hell you came from and never, _ever_ step foot on my base _ever_ again. The only way any of you should ever serve this country is if there is a draft and you are forced against your will to join, and even then, I hope within each of you lies a heart murmur, or asthma, or the sense to jump off the top of your roof and obtain flat feet. This has been, by far, the worst weekend of my life and not a second after you are gone, I'm taking my much-deserved leave, going back to New Jersey and gorging myself on Chef Dave's Grilled Strawberry and Goat Cheese Dessert Pizza. May our paths never cross and may each of you never move above your safe and secure place in the land of mediocrity."

He scanned the bewildered faces in front of him with a sneer, his gaze finally resting on Michael. Nervous and unsure of the appropriate protocol, Michael began a slow clap.

"Wooo…alright, good pep talk! Yeah! Let's hear it for the Sarge! Woo—hey!" Michael rubbed the spot on his calf that had been kicked by a stoic Jim standing next to him.

Sergeant Miller rolled his eyes. "Dismissed," he muttered and with a final blow of his whistle, the group scrambled to the charter bus waiting behind them. All except Dwight and Michael, who lingered behind to bestow final farewells upon the exasperated sergeant.

"Sir, question, sir: is there a gift shop? I have a collection of commemorative spoons from every historical fort that I visit and I need—"

"What you _need,_ son, is to leave. Now," Sergeant Miller said pinching the bridge of his nose, not even bothering to look at the now sullen Dwight. He gave one last salute before marching back to the bus.

_I would think that a man with respect for good cuisine would appreciate the need for appropriate flatware. Not that I would ever eat off of the spoons as they are collector's items. Though they do fit quite well in the ear canal. My ears do not clean themselves therefore I must do it myself._ Dwight beamed at the camera, proud of his unique solution. _Saves me a fortune on ear syringes._

"Well, sir, it looks like this is where our journey ends," Michael extended a hand and the sergeant grudgingly shook it. "We kindly thank you for your southern hospitality—"

"My what?"

"—and hey, if you ever want to bring your troops around to Dunder Mifflin, we'd be glad to show you a thing or two about the paper marketplace. It is a jun-gle, let me tell you. Oh and by the way," Michael gently pushed his finger against the lapel of the sergeant's uniform. "What's your favorite kind of food?"

Sergeant Miller eyed him with caution. "Italian. Why?"

Michael shrugged. "No reason. Anywho, thanks again, and hooah!" He pumped his fist in the air and jogged over to the bus.

The sergeant let out a sigh of relief, giving one last look at the bus before retreating back into his office to begin the large amount of paperwork he would need to fill out in order to take leave. It was tedious, but would be well worth it.

Jim loaded his duffel bag in the storage area below the bus and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Karen, looking much softer than the last time he had seen her.

"Hey," she said with a conciliatory smile. "Listen, I just thought you should know…I'm going to go for that job in New York."

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had imagined what his next conversation with Karen would be, and none of those situations involved this news.

"Oh. Well, that's—"

"You can come with me," Karen interjected, her eyes quietly pleading. Jim cocked his head to the side, his mouth knit tightly in a sideways frown.

"I can't," he said softly, taken aback with the memories and emotional weight his words carried; it was just as hard to say as it was to hear.

Karen nodded. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Well, if you are going to stay here, would you do me and the rest of the world a favor?"

Jim furrowed his eyebrows.

"Go after her. _Please_. It's tiring just watching you two."

Once again, Jim was internally knocked over in surprise, even more so at the small smile that accompanied her words.

"Umm…okay," he laughed. "Will do."

Karen gave him a light kiss on the cheek, throwing in her suitcase along with the others and climbing onto the bus. Jim followed shortly after her, watching her take a seat next to Angela. He spotted Pam in the back, sitting alone and scrolling through her mp3 player. He made his way toward her, smirking to himself as he heard Karen explain her seating choice to Angela as he passed by: "You know, I'm thinking of getting a cat. What brand do you recommend?"

Jim plopped down in the seat next to Pam, catching her off-guard.

"Hi," she said with confusion. "Why aren't you—"

"It's a long story, we've got a long bus ride…is that okay?"

She nodded with excitement. "Absolutely."

"I thought so. Now, question," he began.

Pam giggled. "Yes, Dwight?"

"We'll table that comment for the time being. Now, what are you doing when we get back to Scranton?"

"Let's see: go home, burn this uniform, open a bottle of wine and forget this weekend ever happened."

Jim smirked. "Well, as nice as that sounds, I thought maybe we could do something."

Her jaw dropped a little, and though she tried to remain cool, Pam couldn't help the grin that quickly spread to her face.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," Jim shrugged. "Maybe something to take our mind off of the heat…like popsicles?"

Pam held his gaze.

"Raspberry?"

"Of course."

"Can I get two?"

"Now you're just being greedy."

"Please?"

"Anything you want."

The drive home suddenly didn't seem quite so long.

xxx

A week later, Sergeant Miller received a package, addressed from Scranton, PA. He curiously tore open the plain brown box to reveal Mario Batali's "Molto Italiano: 327 Simple Italian Recipes to Cook at Home." He turned it over in delight, and noticed a card tucked within the front flap. It was a picture of the entire Dunder Mifflin team, gathered in the office and looking utterly miserable except for Michael, grinning with a silver whistle in between his teeth. The card contained a simple message:

"_We are not retreating, we are advancing in another direction__." _

_ Love,Cordially,Hooah Sincerely,_

_General Scott and the 1__st__ Dunder Mifflin Army Regiment._


End file.
